


Casualty

by highflyer101



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highflyer101/pseuds/highflyer101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The point is, Doctor Foster, you must make a choice: a choice that might mean everything." He remembers his mother saying very nearly the same thing only a few days earlier, but somehow that had read as a condemnation rather than a call to action. Nurse Mary speaks freely, but not unkindly; she is refreshingly honest, given the corruption and sycophantism that runs rampant in the hospital. "Will you continue to do your duty, or will you let this setback overcome you completely?" she continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casualty

**Author's Note:**

> Wow honestly don't even know what this is, but this fandom is so new/little I figured I might as well post it! Sparked because I know someone currently writing a thesis on Germans in the Civil War and I felt like it was relevant. Please enjoy!!

 

The man before Jed is, in many ways, boringly average, at least by the standards of a war hospital. He has a broken leg after falling off his horse; it's likely that he pulled a muscle in his back. It's also possible he has a concussion, but to diagnose that would require actually conversing with him, and, unfortunately, the man's one unique quality is that he speaks little to no English.

He seems to understand bits and pieces of what Jed tells him. At least, he nods vaguely when he hears that he's in a Union hospital. But the moment it gets the slightest bit more complicated than that, the man's face goes totally blank, and he can only mutter, "Das verstehe ich nicht," in response. It's not exactly rare, of course, to come across a German soldier these days; hundreds of thousands of Dutchmen have joined the war effort so far. It's just that Jed's language skills are limited to French and English, so he usually makes a point of letting Hale take the German patients (not that Hale really speaks German very well anyway, but it flatters the peacock's ego to try, and prevents Jed from feeling and looking absolutely useless).

For some reason, that infuriating Squivers is hovering behind him as he makes hopeless attempts to communicate, making the experience all the more frustrating. Squivers has the annoying habit of opening his mouth, as if to give a suggestion, and promptly shutting it, bouncing nervously on his heels all the while. The effect would be comical, really, if it weren't so irritating.

"Private Squivers, do you have something to add?" Jed finally barks. The cadet jumps.

"Only that, ah, perhaps... Well," he stammers.

"Spit it out, Squivers."

"Well, Nurse Mary's husband was German, was he not? Perhaps she could be of some, uh, assistance."

It's a reasonable, even astute, suggestion, but Jed has his reasons for disliking it. He has been carefully avoiding conversation with Miss Phinney since the mortifying, shameful incident when she found him in his office, off his head on morphine, and she has not sought him out either. He'd been hoping to prolong this arrangement for the foreseeable future, or at least until he had worked out a way to apologize for his behavior. Still, there's no way to get out of it now.

"Fetch her," he tells Squivers, and, seemingly in no time, Mary is gliding over to the bed.

"I heard you have need of me, Doctor?" she asks curtly.

"Yes. You speak German, don't you?" he responds, sure it doesn't escape her notice that he shrinks away from eye contact. "We need a translator for this patient."

"I see." She frowns a little at the man lying in bed, then warns, "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice." Nevertheless, she jumps into German, her voice softening as she speaks to the patient. _"Wilkommen, Soldat._ Wie fühlen Sie sich?"

By the end of her conversation with him, Jed has confirmed his diagnosis of a concussion. As soon as he has, Mary gently bids the soldier goodbye, and then she's gone. It's almost instinctive to follow her; now that he has his chance, he feels he must clear the air.

"Miss Phinney," he calls. Just like that, she pauses, turns, and waits for him to catch up.

"Doctor Foster, is there something else you need?"

"I wanted to apologize. For my behavior towards you, the other night."

Her face tightens for a moment, then relaxes. Her shoulders sag and she nods quickly. "Consider it forgotten. There are more important things you and I must focus on."

"The morphine," he clarifies, lowering his voice to avoid one of the patients hearing. "It is not as easy as you seem to believe."

"I never said it was easy," she shoots back. "I said it was important. And it is. You may have successfully performed your brother's surgery, but that does not mean you do not put your patients at risk by acting this way."

Abruptly, his shame becomes anger. He feels flushed and restless at the mention of his brother, who he has always tried to save from himself, and never succeeded. At least, he has never been treated like he succeeded; he has long since grown accustomed to his mother's disappointment, but he cannot stand to be reduced to a failure in anyone else's eyes, least of all Mary's.

"You would hardly understand the challenges I faced with my brother," he snarls defensively. "Ezra could have _died_ because of me; is it such a sin to want to relax after that?"

"On the contrary, Doctor, I understand perfectly." Mary's eyes are icy now, her back stiff. "You may have forgotten, but my husband passed away under my care."

The shame is back. It pools in his belly, ice cold, combating the fire of his anger. He forgets, sometimes, that she has gone through so much. In his mind, the hospital and the people it holds are just temporary: they have no past or future. He paints himself as the only there who is really alive, who is really struggling, who really knows anything. Of course, it's not true, but it's so much easier to blame Hale for his incompetence and Nurse Hastings for her snobbishness and Mary for her annoying persistence if he ignores the fact that they're only human, too.

"Of course. I must ask you to forgive me. Again," he adds, slightly bitter at his own buffoonery. Her eyes soften imperceptibly.

"It is a hard time for us all," she says dismissively. Then - "I understand the war has not been kind to you thus far."

Her tone is dangerously close to pitying, and he is struck once again by her utter impertinence. She is clearly referring to the harsh words he exchanged with his mother, and his abrupt move from his and Eliza's house to an empty room in the hospital. He should have known that she would put the pieces of his misfortune together, especially now that she knows about the morphine. She's a nurse: it's her job to tend to the unfortunate, and, in her eyes, he is clearly included in that number.

"Kinder to me than to most," he points out. He believes in his work at the hospital, truly, but he cannot deny that he has taken the easy route. She sighs.

"I only mean to say that your behavior as of late has clearly been influenced by the circumstances. As I said last night, this is not you; you are a _fine_ doctor, but you've been set adrift by your own self-pity - "

"And you have experience in feeling adrift, do you, Duchess?"

"The point is, Doctor Foster, you must make a choice: a choice that might mean everything." He remembers his mother saying very nearly the same thing only a few days earlier, but somehow that had read as a condemnation rather than a call to action. Nurse Mary speaks freely, but not unkindly; she is refreshingly honest, given the corruption and sycophantism that runs rampant in the hospital. "Will you continue to do your duty, or will you let this setback overcome you completely?" she continues.

"Your point is taken," he interrupts. "Thank you, Miss Phinney." She opens her mouth to respond, maybe to push him to some greater resolution, but the moment is lost already. A crash comes from down the ward and, like a shot, they are snapped back into their respective roles, their conversation just another casualty of the war.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. German translation: Welcome soldier. How are you feeling? 
> 
> (These could, of course, be horribly wrong; we're talking about Google translate here. My apologies to anyone who actually speaks German if I totally butchered it lol)


End file.
